Love Notes: A hilarious romantic comedy from Aimee Brown

By Aimee Brown

'A loveable heroine and a swoonworthy hero - yes please! The perfect mix of humour, heart and romance.' Sandy Barker

Mercy Alexander doesn’t believe in love, let alone love at first sight.
There’s one sure fire way of steering clear of heartbreak, and that’s not to get your heart involved in the first place. So what is that irritating flutter she feels every time she sees Brooks Hudson, and why is she finding him so hard to ignore?

Brooks Hudson can’t understand where he’s going wrong.
Doting single father to six-year-old Ali, supportive co-parent with his ex, much-loved friend and respected colleague, not to mention he’s smoking hot. So why is he constantly being dumped, told in no uncertain terms he’s ‘too nice’? Since when was being nice a crime?

Mercy is in serious need of someone to restore her faith in men, and Brooks needs a girl he likes to stick around long enough for him to believe in love again. But when Mercy’s past threatens to remind her of everything she’s scared of, will love be enough to save the day?

You won’t be able to put Aimee Brown’s new sexy, swoony, sultry romance down. Perfect for all fans of Sariah Wilson, Lindsey Kelk and Abby Jiminez.

What readers say about Aimee Brown:

‘Loved, loved, loved this book. After reading The Lucky Dressthis was next in line to see if one of the characters gets a happy ending. Well all I’m going to say is please read it, an amazing book.’

‘I really enjoyed this fun, whirlwind romance, which I can really imagine on the big screen. I give this 5 out of 5.’

‘I just loved this novel, the characters are authentic, the story is gorgeous and it won't fail to bring a smile to your face.’

‘This is a book that any romantic lover will enjoy and the ones that are not fans of romance will not be disappointed, the story has a happy ending, of course, but the characters will have their path till the ending, because sometimes you have to be happy with yourself before starting a new relationship, don’t you think?’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781804268094

Aimee Brown

Aimee Brown is the bestselling romantic comedy author of several books including The Lucky Dress. She’s an Oregon native, now living in a tiny town in cold Montana and sets her books in Portland. Her series with Boldwood is full of love and laughter and real-life issues.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

BROOKS HUDSON

Six months ago…

‘Ugh,’ I groan, rolling over and grabbing my ringing phone from my nightstand. I finally get to sleep and someone interrupts me. ‘Yeah?’

‘I had a dream,’ she says, exaggerating each word.

She had a dream? Fucking hell. I thought divorce meant you didn’t call your ex-husband anymore after dark. Business and emergency calls only.

‘I also had a dream,’ I say, rolling onto my stomach and resting my head on my left arm. ‘It was great too. I had an ex-wife that didn’t wake me up to tell me about some stupid vision she’s had.’

She laughs into the phone. ‘You’ll never escape me; we have a child together, so like it or not, you get me for life.’

‘This is what our parents meant when they said we were too young to get married. I get it now.’

‘Will you listen? This seems important.’

‘You talk, I’ll sleep.’

‘Fine. I was in this room. It was all white. White walls. White floors. White rugs. White curtains. White—’

‘It was white,’ I interrupt her. ‘Yeah, I’m following, continue.’

‘An-y-way, grumpy, you were there, and besides Alijah and me, you were alone. Nobody else was there, not your parents, not Ty, or Oz, none of your friends. You were alone alone, Brooks. And it was one of those life-changing moments. Like, your death.’ She says it dramatically as if this is absolutely factual. A real Nostradamus moment.

‘Dun dun duuun…’

She laughs, but I’m sure it’s less because I’m funny and more that she doesn’t enjoy me making fun of her ‘supernatural’ gifts from the universe. Her reading people’s aura and drawing tarot cards in high school was a fun party trick that we all enjoyed. I’m no longer at that point in our relationship and haven’t been since she decided I wasn’t her pre-destined star-crossed lover. Aka: ‘the one’, soulmate, twin flame, the Ryan Reynolds to her Blake Lively, the Ben Affleck to her J-Lo.

‘After death, you can’t call me. Sounds nice. Quiet. Peaceful. Relaxing, even. Where the hell do I sign up?’

‘Funny,’ she says, not laughing. ‘This is serious, Brooks. I think you might die alone.’

‘OK, well, I appreciate the warning…’

‘Wait!’ she says, somehow sensing the incoming blast of silence that is me disconnecting our call. ‘There was a woman that walked in as I was leaving. She was beyond devastated. I think she might have been your soulmate.’

This makes me open my eyes, now staring at the ceiling, and not because I’m constantly searching for ‘the one’. After marrying and divorcing Norah, I know there is no such thing as soulmates. I don’t think anyone on this planet is meant for anyone else. Everything we do is the result of whatever choices we’ve made. There is no destiny. No fate. No karmic influence taking names and kicking ass. Bad things happen to good people, and evil, more often than not, gets away with it.

I have just one question.

‘Please tell me it wasn’t you?’

She heaves a sigh into the phone, clearly irritated with my apparent disinterest. ‘It wasn’t me. She had dark hair, emerald-green eyes, and heels higher than I have ever attempted.’

‘I like her already. Now I just need to hop on my trusty steed and search the world for this dark-haired, emerald-eyed, stiletto-wearing damsel and convince her to fall in love with me. I’ll do this, of course, in all the spare time I have between work, Alijah and you.’

‘You’re missing the point. She’s your literal soulmate. You won’t have to look for her. You’ll just find one another. That’s how fate works, Brooks. I can’t believe we were married so long, and you learned nothing.’

‘I learned how not to be married. It’s not so bad. A little lonely. But I’m surviving it.’

‘I forgot how irritating you are when awoken from a dead sleep.’

‘Glad I could remind you. Bye.’ I tap the end call button before she can say anything else and flip my phone onto silent.

My soulmate. Like I’m going to run after a woman my ex-wife sees in her dreams. No thanks.

1

MERCY ALEXANDER

Present day

‘Most boring couple ever,’ I whisper, glancing around at the guests.

This wedding looks like a last-minute backyard barbecue, but I know it’s not because this couple booked us a year ago. The whole place is casual. Besides the wedding party, the only man here wearing a tie is Dylan. Some of these people are in jean shorts.

Not that there’s anything wrong with a last-minute casual wedding. If it were me, though, and I’d spent this much money on a party to declare my love for some guy, people better wear ties and tiaras. Plus, I prefer dressier events because I like clothes and shoes. It’s like window shopping – a happy distraction from my mind spiraling that I’m playing my five hundredth wedding, and with each one, I’m reminded I’ll likely never find this happily-ever-after crap. Nor do I want it – or at least I didn’t think I did. But now that I’m thirty and helping my best friends plan their wedding, something inside isn’t settling into my usual bury-your-feelings ways. My head is trying to revive my heart that’s been in a decades-long coma, and believe it or not, it’s responding – and it’s painful. I’m certain I’d rather focus on who’s wearing what so I can describe it well enough to google and find it online later than continue listening to my insides whispering about something I’m terrified of.

‘Pachelbel’s Canon is a classic wedding song, Merc. Some people enjoy traditional,’ Dylan, my level-headed business partner, says.

‘Traditional would be black tie. This feels more like Elvis in velvet at a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel in Vegas.’

‘Elvis in velvet…’ He repeats my words, shaking his head with each one.

Weddings, we play at least one practically every weekend. Dylan and I run a company called Love Notes. Our shop is in downtown Portland, where we sell and rent stringed instruments and pianos, book gigs, give lessons and do private work for musician hires in our recording studio. Both of us play multiple instruments fluently, and we have a side gig once or twice a month as our stringed duo cover band, Violated. Bach and Beethoven aren’t songs you’ll find Violated playing. We shock the fancy right out of folks with pop, rock, rap and alternative hits. That’s right; I can play Nirvana on five instruments.

‘I don’t understand the world’s need to pair everyone off. Love doesn’t last. At least not for most people. It’s why our country’s divorce rate is through the roof. I think marriage licenses should have ten-year expiration dates, and if you choose not to renew, you’re over automatically. It’d be mostly painless because you knew it was coming, so you’ve probably discussed it. No one is to blame; your license expired, so you went your separate ways. It seems a little drastic, but I’d bet many people would take the easy out.’

Dylan stares at me, blank-faced, except for the you’re weird, and I don’t understand why I like it crooked grin he’s got plastered on his face.

‘You’ve got this romance vibe down,’ he says as he positions his cello.

‘Do I seem bitter?’

‘A tad.’

We get the cue from the wedding planner that our time to shine is now. The bridal party is on their way down the aisle to Canon in D, played via cello (Dylan) and violin (me).

Once the entire entourage of eight bridesmaids, eight groomsmen, a ring bearer named Buster (their Doberman) and a crying flower girl carried by her jean-cargo-short-and-flip-flop-clad father have made it down the aisle our performance ends.

Dylan leans into me. ‘Three years,’ he whispers.

I scrunch my face, inspecting the couple. I’d already guessed low because the groom had no reaction when the bride appeared at the end of the aisle. That’s my favorite part – seeing how the groom reacts to his bride. That one moment can tell me if it’s forever or not. But this guy didn’t shed even one tear. No heavy I’m so lucky sigh. Not even a crack of a smile. He just stood there stone-faced like her father threatened his life just before this moment. He showed more enthusiasm when his best man marched down the aisle, and they fist-bumped as they met. I can’t be the only person who noticed this. The couple isn’t even holding hands, just standing beside one another awkwardly. Not a great sign, so I see why Dylan guessed low.

We have this game we play at weddings. Not out loud or anything, primarily through whisper conversations as we sit at the back of the room watching a couple we don’t know marry and guessing how long they’ll last based on the ceremony alone. Some have the vibe of forever, but most don’t. Dylan is calling it early this time. Usually, he waits until the end so he has the whole picture because that’s the kind of guy he is. He’s careful with his decisions, no matter how big or small. He researches anything he wants to buy for months before finally dropping the cash. The man’s middle name is responsibility. Whereas mine is, maybe, cynical?

‘I’m going eight,’ I whisper back, intentionally guessing higher than him for the first time just for fun.

‘Eight?’

‘They each have at least eight friends, which means they’ll go to every one of them for advice when things start to fall apart, and it’ll take that long for them to agree. I could point out a dozen other faux pas, but considering he’s wearing a white tux with tails and it’s not 1988, must I say more?’

Dyl shakes his head.

‘We should be playing one of Penny’s ballads. Or Phil Collins.’

Penny is my best friend, Hollyn’s, mother. She’s former popstar Penny Candy, who’s actually met Phil Collins. She’s trying to make a comeback, but things are moving rather slowly on that front. Maybe I’ll suggest she switch over to wedding singer. This wedding could’ve used her today.

‘This is why you don’t get to pick the music,’ Dylan says.

‘Admit it, guessing the demise of couples is my one talent. I always win.’

‘You have more than one talent,’ he says, eyeing the violin in my lap.

‘I can sense a pending breakup from miles away. Remember the couple that didn’t even make it to their I-do’s? I called that one the moment we walked in.’

‘How could I forget the wedding where the police were called before the reception?’

Inviting your exes (yes, multiple) who are still in love with you isn’t a great idea, is what I learned that day. Nobody was prepared for what happened when that priest asked the age-old question, ‘Does anyone object? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.’ A myriad of men and women stood, and it was an absolute dumpster fire from that moment on. A train wreck Dyl and I couldn’t look away from, so we played like we were going down with the Titanic.

‘You got plans tonight?’ Dyl asks. ‘I was thinking about making fish tacos like those we had in LA that time. I have enough for you and even River if you want to come over later.’

We can’t usually talk through weddings, but for this one, we’re way in the back of the room, far from any guests, so as long as we keep it a hair above a whisper, I don’t have to melt my mind with pre-written vows I could recite in my sleep.

‘I also have wine.’ He attempts to entice me with alcohol, but I think he’s forgotten who he’s talking to because I rarely say no to free dinner, let alone drinks. I don’t need bribery; free leaves more money for me to add to my shoe collection.

Sadly, this time, I have to decline. ‘Can’t. Ed found a library doing outdoor movies this summer, and tonight one is showing La La Land. I promised him I’d go.’

When Dyl’s eyebrows lift, I know he’s into it. We met while playing the La La Land tour with the Portland Symphony. Dylan’s been one of my best friends for five years, and this movie is how it all happened. It’s our all-time favorite for totally different reasons. Dyl’s in love with the music and the sweeping romantic essence the whole thing has. I love it because it doesn’t end in a happily-ever-after. None of my favorite movies do. La-La Land, Up in the Air, Shopgirl. Watch them. They’re true to life. Yes, it’s sad, but life can be a real crapshoot for some people, and through living that myself, I’ve discovered things don’t often go as you’ve planned, and the romantics hate it. I’ve tried to picture my own happily-ever-after, but real life reminds me it’s not realistic minute by minute. I’m surviving, and only just at that.

‘Want to come with?’ I ask, knowing from the smile on his face that he’s ready to toss the fish tacos to Mozart – his asshole cat – and spend an evening with my brother and me.

‘Yeah,’ he says with a wide smile. ‘Is there anything more fun than mixing a musical with Edie?’

I snicker. ‘He’s going to sing all the songs not quite under his breath, so yeah, I can think of many more fun things. Please, bring the wine.’

After the insanely long ceremony, and as the two of us exit through the cocktail hour, a glass of champagne somehow ends up in my hand. It always does. I’m just lucky like that. Dylan loads our instruments into his car, taking my violin from me and spotting the glass immediately.

‘Mercy…’ he moans.

‘A man just handed it to me as we walked through. It would’ve been rude to reject it.’

Once we’re in the car, I hand him the now-empty glass. ‘It’s plastic. Filled with mid-grade champagne. Either they didn’t want to splurge, or they’re broke, and since money is one of the main fights that break couples up, I confidently stand by my less than eight years, and I may even be leaning more towards your three.’

He nods proudly. ‘When I win this one, you’re paying for lunch at some point.’

‘If I lose, I’ll consider it.’

Just after nine thirty, Dylan and I are walking down the path from the parking lot to an ornately landscaped lawn with fountains bubbling at the back of the brick library building. The property is filled with people lounging under the darkening skies. Some in lawn chairs, others lying on blankets, but all of them chattering to their groups happily. Summer has officially started, and the world seems happy. I know I am, mainly because Dyl drove, so I didn’t have to waste the gas. And when I asked him to stop by the Starbucks so I could grab an iced coffee, he volunteered to pay for his and mine. Win.

Yes, we hang out even when we’re not at work. It would be easier to count the hours I don’t see him. Long story short, Dylan secured the apartment across the hall from his when he learned Edie and Carlos had announced they’d bought the ‘cutest little craftsman home there ever was’ (Ed’s words), and they’d be moving into it together – alone.

Now my best friend’s little brother, River, and I live together in downtown Portland, splitting everything halvsies in a shithole three-story walk-up with hot water for about 65 percent of your shower, so you gotta move quickly. It’s not luxurious, but it’s mine, and I feel safe living with and near two guys I mostly enjoy and trust with my life.

It’s dusk, but quickly moving into nighttime. Lights are wound up tree trunks, providing a bit of a glow so people can see. The starlit sky is the perfect background, and the light of the moon is mesmerizing. It almost makes the entire atmosphere romantic, which is probably what they’re hoping for, considering the movie they chose to play.

‘Mercy, girl!’ Ed waves frantically like I might miss him. ‘Over here!’

His face lights up at the sight of Dylan. I forgot these two are secretly in love. Not really, but they might as well be because Edie adores Dylan. It’s possible he likes him more than me.

‘Edie!’ Dylan says like they’re old friends reunited.

‘Dylan Santiago! Oh, how I’ve missed you at family dinners lately.’ Ed’s gaze darts to me.

I glare. He would say that out loud. Just last week, he suggested I bring Dylan again because I’m ‘more fun when he’s around’. He’s convinced Dylan is the perfect man, and I am somehow too stupid to see it.

‘I’d come just for Carlos’s cooking but showing up without an invite seems stalker-ish,’ Dyl says as he glances around Ed. ‘He’s not here tonight?’

Edie shakes his head with a frown. ‘He’s with his other love, the restaurant.’

‘Ah,’ Dyl says. ‘Well, speaking of food, I brought some.’ He pats the backpack slung over his shoulder.

‘You made the tacos?’ I ask. He could have told me. I’d have helped.

‘I had enough and didn’t eat yet, did you?’

I lift my shoulders. ‘Does a cup of coffee and a hard-boiled egg count?’

‘No.’

‘Did I hear tacos?’ Ed asks, his hands in a prayer position in front of his chest.

‘Fish tacos, my specialty,’ Dyl says, handing Ed his bag.

‘Yum! I’m so glad she brought you!’ he says eagerly, setting the bag on the blanket in front of him and patting either side. ‘Sit, sit. We’ll have so much fun. How’ve you been, doll? It’s been a hot minute since I saw you.’

‘I saw you yester—’

‘Talking to Dyl, love.’ Ed holds a hand in my direction to shut me up.

‘So sorry,’ I say, a little vexed he’s more excited to see Dylan than the little sister he raised.

I silence myself, sitting to Ed’s left while Dylan situates himself to Edie’s right. The two spread Dylan’s perfectly made fish tacos in front of us while chit-chatting about life, and, like the intelligent man I know Dylan is, he pulls the wine he mentioned earlier from his bag.

‘Right when I thought he couldn’t be more perfect,’ Ed says, glancing my way and batting his eyes. I roll mine in return.

Once the movie starts, we quiet, eating in silence with our eyes glued to the wall-sized screen. It’s funny how Ed and I react to the love-at-first-sight moment between Mia and Seb. Both of us pulling our hands to our chest with a nearly silent gasp. Even though I don’t believe.

We’re related even though no one would ever guess we are. Our dad is a pathetic white guy who knocked up my sixteen-year-old mother, who then decided the situation was too bad for her, but she left me there. Ten years prior, Edie’s mom left when she found out she was pregnant with him and never looked back. Ed wasn’t even allowed to see Nick because his mother was the smartest, most thoughtful woman I’d ever met. I used to wish she was my mother, but I got the next best thing because Ed is just like her, from his personality to his looks. He’s tall, with light brown skin, a total dancer’s body, a complexion to die for, hazel eyes and short black shaved hair. And I look just like Nick (our sperm donor) with dark hair, green eyes, an olive-toned complexion with a splatter of freckles across my face that one foster mom once swore would fade with age.

I don’t know what it is about this scene that gets me. I absolutely do not believe in love at first sight. Or love at all. But this movie makes me want to believe – right until Seb’s response. Then I’m reminded both life and love suck. I’ll leave this movie tonight in my safe little love-hating bubble and be perfectly happy without ever having to experience it because I already know it’s the most painful emotion of them all.

Suddenly, it happens. Ed stands, encouraging other couples to do the same. After he’s match-made half a dozen folks with strangers for an impromptu dance party and as Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone sing their first duet together, he extends his hand my way.

‘What are you doing? No.’ I refuse him immediately.

‘Having fun. What are you doing?’

‘Pretending you don’t exist.’

‘Go,’ Dyl encourages, pushing me Ed’s way.

I glare as Ed chuckles at getting his way. He pulls me from the ground by my hand and dances me across the grass while singing the song like he’s in the movie.

‘Your part’s coming up,’ he says between his lines.

I could do it. I know every word. But no way am I. We may share a ‘performance’ gene, but his is much more extroverted than mine.

‘You’re lucky I’m entertaining you with the dance at all. I’m in heels in the grass, and I’ve been drinking wine from the bottle.’

‘And you make it all look easy, darling.’ He glances over my shoulder, his smile suddenly fading. ‘Dylan looks sad.’

He does have a slight frown on his face. I don’t know why. He’s seemed happy until now, and I know he loves this movie as much as I do. Not to mention he’s easily the best-looking man in this crowd. He’s tall, with a head full of dark curls that are currently a touch too long, and he’s utterly handsome with his caramel-colored eyes and five o’clock shadow now surfacing a few hours too late. He could probably ask any woman here to dance, and not one would say no.

‘He’s sad because he’s being a party pooper,’ I say.

‘You inspired him off his patootie and out of his comfort zone. Now he just sits there like a sad little puppy in his Dockers and Ralph Lauren polos, admiring you from afar. He’s the perfect man, Merc. When will you wake up and see it?’

‘Ed,’ I groan. ‘We’ve had this conversation a million times. I’ve told you; we’re just friends now. Nothing more.’

‘You two never had fireworks?’

I shake my head. ‘No lightning, no heart flips, no fireworks. He’s a safe choice and perfect as my backup.’

‘You have a backup?’

‘If you must know, I’ve got two. A backup, Dylan, with the rule that if we’re the last singles standing in our group of friends when I’m forty, he’s the guy I’ll run to. Then I’ve got a backup to my backup – just in case.’

‘In case of what?’

‘Have you looked at Dylan? He doesn’t exactly make anyone want to pour acid into their eyes.’

He smirks. ‘That was like poetry, darling.’

‘I’m just saying; he’s someone’s knight in shining armor. I just don’t think he’s mine.’

Ed is getting tired of this conversation, and it shows. ‘Who is your backup if Dylan falls for some gorgeous maiden who is not you?’

‘I don’t want to say.’

Ed rolls his eyes hard. ‘You’re a little bit maddening. I think you’ve got that heart of yours gagged so tight there’s no way it could possibly tell you to fall for Dylan or anyone else.’

I sigh heavily. This is Ed’s thing. Fall for Dylan. He’s perfect. Handsome. Responsible. The whole package.

Before I know it, I’ve overthought his words long enough that he’s danced me right to him, and I didn’t even notice. His now outstretched hand extended Dylan’s way, says he’s ready to pass me off. That’s why he didn’t partner Dylan with some unsuspecting woman earlier. He had a plan.

I shoot Dyl a ‘don’t do it’ look, but by the coy grin on his face, not to mention that he’s now on his feet, something tells me we’re doing this.

‘Merc,’ he greets me with a guilty smile.

‘Here we are…’ I take his hand, allowing him to slide his other around my waist.

‘You know what I love?’ he asks as he dances me towards the back of the crowd.

‘Fish tacos?’

He shakes his head.

‘Never being late for anything?’

Another head shake and smirk.

‘Dockers as weekend wear?’

He laughs, shaking his head again. ‘I love how you pretend to hate romance and wear this anti-love armored suit, but your favorite parts of this movie are the romantic parts. Deep down, I know you wished Seb and Mia would’ve ended up together.’

‘Are you kidding me? Everyone did. But life is complicated, and when you think the timing is right, it swoops in to prove you wrong. Is it sad? A little. But at the same time, maybe the timing was off so something else wouldn’t be late.’

‘You think their timing was off?’

‘Possibly. I dunno. It’s a movie. I’m not investigating it for between-the-line clues like I’m in a college reading class. I’d love for all this romance crap to be true, but my life hasn’t been that way.’

‘Well, that’s because you insist on living in the past.’

‘The past is a part of who I am; that’s not living in it. You either accept me at my worst, past included, or not at all. If I could escape